


Here Comes the Sun (It's Alright)

by dressedupasmyself



Series: 30 Days of Klaroline (June 2020) [1]
Category: The Originals (TV), The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, F/M, Fluff, antiques
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-03 10:55:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24469819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dressedupasmyself/pseuds/dressedupasmyself
Summary: He couldn’t help the eager way his eyes lifted at the chime of the bell.She always came by on Thursday mornings. He made sure to have something precious set aside for her. Sometimes she looked quickly, her eyes sure in their appraisal. Other times she’d touch, and linger, and he’d watch in awe as she turned soft in remembering.Klaus was still figuring out what made up the difference in her reactions.
Relationships: Caroline Forbes/Klaus Mikaelson
Series: 30 Days of Klaroline (June 2020) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1770547
Comments: 4
Kudos: 80





	Here Comes the Sun (It's Alright)

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from the song Here Comes the Sun by The Beatles.

“I like old things,” she said.

“Do you?” His voice was lilting, teasing. Everything in his eyes were sincere. He liked old things too. He must, if he spent his days in this shop, collecting and restoring and analysing.

She let her fingers trail over a tea set made from bone-white china. It felt cold and frail, yet somehow it was still in one piece after –

“It’s a hundred and twelve years old.” His voice was closer now, right behind her. “Belonged to a duchess who liked flowers and despised the cold.”

“She had good taste.”

“So do you.”

Caroline’s smile was soft and just for him. “So do you.”

He couldn’t help the eager way his eyes lifted at the chime of the bell.

She always came by on Thursday mornings. He made sure to have something precious set aside for her. Sometimes she looked quickly, her eyes sure in their appraisal. Other times she’d touch, and linger, and he’d watch in awe as she turned soft in remembering.

Klaus was still figuring out what made up the difference in her reactions.

It wasn’t her, this time, and he deflated.

“Waiting for someone?”

Kol was more observant than he got credit for. He didn’t hesitate in commenting on the things he noticed, either, a quality that irked and amused Klaus simultaneously.

“Not you.”

“Of course not.” Kol abandoned his coat over the back of an old bench. “But then I haven’t got hair the colour of golden wheat and eyes like the sky in summertime.”

It was a jab, Klaus knew, at the itch he felt to paint her. He’d managed restraint, but his recent colour schemes have all been along the same thread.

“Careful, brother. Your ability to grasp metaphors is showing.”

“Oh, the horror.” Kol jumped up to sit on Klaus’s desk. “Isn’t she late?”

Klaus didn’t want to air the worry nagging at the back of his skull at her absence. She had no obligation to him. Just because she’d shown up like clockwork for six weeks did not give him the right to analyse what her tardiness meant.

“Oh.”

He halted on his way out of the backroom, a recently repaired phonograph balanced in his hands.

He hadn’t expected her to be in his shop, fingers trailing over a pile of dusty books. She liked the physical proof of it, he thought, of the worn pages and the places where other people had stored bits of their broken hearts.

Her smile was shy. “I hope you don’t close early on Fridays.”

He knew that if she were to peek through his shuttered window, he’d open it all up in a heartbeat, regardless of trading hours. He wanted to say so, but it didn’t feel like the right moment.

Instead he cleared his throat, busied himself with setting down the phonograph. “Is everything alright?”

“Fine.” She tucked a stray curl behind her ear. He wanted to tell her to leave it, that he liked the way it framed her face. “My friend had her baby yesterday. I didn’t leave the hospital until late.”

He leaned against the desk, eyes trained on hers. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks.” That soft smile again. “Does that work?”

It took him a second to realise she was talking about the phonograph.

“Right!” He looked down at the ancient wood he’d spent so much time on the last two days, more of an attempt at distraction than he’d care to admit. “Yes, I imagine it does.”

She stepped closer, blue eyes intrigued.

“Will you play something?”

He felt his lips turn up at the corners at the sudden playfulness he saw in her. “What makes you think I own any cylinders?”

Her eye roll was instant, and she twirled with light footsteps to a crate in the corner. She brought him a few wax cylinders in various states of disarray. He didn’t know why it surprised him that she knew the contents of his shop almost as well as he himself did.

Her smile turned gleeful. “Try it.”

He watched her for a moment longer, then forced himself to focus. He turned and fiddled with the phonograph.

“What if it’s broken, love? I’d hate it if you were disappointed.”

He lifted his eyes just in time to see the tail end of her flustered expression at the endearment, but then she settled into a disapproving glare.

“You’re being pessimistic.”

He gestured to the table, taking a step back. “Be my guest.”

She was hesitant in her movements, looking to him for confirmation. At his nod, she turned the hand crank slowly.

“A little faster, love, we do want to listen to it before Christmas.”

He was teasing, and the scathing look he got for his efforts made him smile. She did turn a little faster, and before long he held out a hand to stop her.

“I reckon that should do it.”

She stepped back, obviously excited. She watched the needle start to turn in the grooves in the cylinder, and soon the sound of a saxophone could be heard. It was a little whiny and a little scratchy with age, but it worked, and the elated smile on Caroline’s face was worth every second he’d spent on carefully greasing and assembling the mainsprings.

The sound stopped, and she whirled to face him. “Can I listen to it again?”

“Why are people drawn to old things?”

She’d made herself comfortable on the sofa in his backroom while he worked on carefully taking apart the inner workings of an old, broken clock.

Thursday mornings had turned to evenings, and he had found himself growing used to having her taking up his space, always with questions and ideas that left him smiling once she left.

“I think there’s a certain charm in feeling like you’re the only one to see the beauty in something most people consider worthless.”

She paged through an old journal, fingers gentle against the fading ink.

“Or it could be because we hope that if we remember the people who lived a hundred years ago, if we notice them in their teacups and mirrors and bookshelves, maybe one day someone will do the same for us.”

He watched her, clock forgotten beneath his hands. She was preoccupied in deciphering the foreign scribbles, tiny frown lines crowding up her forehead. Her hair fell in waves along her shoulder and he itched to touch.

She startled when he took the journal from her hands, gently placing it aside as he crouched in front of her.

She sat up, intrigue written across her face as her knees brushed his.

“It could be both,” he said, eyes questioning.

“It could,” she echoed. Her fingers settled against the sleeves of his shirt, and he let his hands linger against her elbows.

“Caroline.” Her name was like a sigh on his lips, escaping almost involuntarily. “Would you run away if I kissed you right now?”

Her eyes sparkled with the now-familiar amusement he’d seen her dole out at any number of things. She was a light in the crowded dimness of his collection of old things, something new that made him pause and take in the moment before it disappeared.

“I never run, Klaus.”

Her lips were soft against his, her fingers gentle in his hair. His own tangled in curls that had mocked him from the start, and he knew that he could paint her a thousand times over and never once capture the exact essence that made her _Caroline_.

“Why are we making a mess?”

Kol hesitated in the doorway, expression repulsed.

“We’re reorganising,” Caroline chirped from the little ladder she was perched on. She had to stretch herself to the edge of her toes to reach the knick-knacks shoved at the very back of the bookshelf. It made Klaus nervous each time it seemed as if she was about to tilt over, but he knew that if he hovered too closely, he would only be met with an aggravated eye roll.

“Why?” Kol repeated. “I liked the layout the way it was.”

“It was inefficient.” Caroline’s tone left little room for argument, and the look Kol shot in Klaus’s direction made it abundantly clear what he thought of Klaus’s position relating to Caroline’s little finger.

“Will you come down from there, love?” He couldn’t quite help himself from laying a hand against the small of her back at her next dangerous wiggle. “I’m sure Kol is quite capable of handing things to you without breaking them.”

“Debatable,” Caroline scoffed, one hand falling to run through Klaus’s curls. He leaned into her touch.

“Not to mention he has a height advantage and won’t risk toppling over the entire bookshelf.”

Caroline’s grip tightened on his hair, but then she let go and allowed him to help her down.

“Fine, I was getting hungry anyway.”

“Oh, brother,” Kol sighed once she’d left the room. “What hurricane have you allowed into our lives?”

Klaus grabbed his keys and wallet from the drawer under the desk. “Why don’t you start taking down anything higher than eyelevel before Caroline decides it would be more efficient for her to do it herself and lands herself in hospital with a broken wrist?”

He ignored the whipping noise Kol made. He could see Caroline waiting just outside, and he could almost picture the way her eyes would light up when he took her hand.

He thought that she was correct in her assessment months ago. He did have excellent taste.


End file.
